Tumbleweeds
by HooahSergeant
Summary: He told her that who they had been didn't matter anymore, and that they were all new, born again, getting a second chance at life. Even if it wasn't the life they would have chosen.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Own not. Profit not. Sue not.

AN: Welcome to something new! There will be more Laws, but I wanted to try something different. Here it is. Enjoy.

* * *

O God of Earth and Altar,

bow down and hear our cry.

Our Earthly rulers falter, our people drift and die.

The walls of gold entomb us, the swords of scorn divide.

Take not thy thunder from us, but take away our pride.

G.K. Chesterton, 1906 'O God of Earth and Altar'

* * *

Rachel would always remember that last sunset. It was practically burned into her memory. She could recall all the colors - purples, reds, oranges, and yellows - and if she closed her eyes she could almost feel the bite of the breeze and the smell of the city. If she managed to lose herself completely in the remembrance she would swear she could taste the bittersweetness of her favorite red wine lingering on her tongue, or the moisture of the air as she took in a deep breath before she sighed.

It was blissful, peaceful really, and she had been completely unaware and uncaring of anything else that might have been happening elsewhere. Rachel Berry, Broadway star, was only concerned in that moment _with_ that moment. It had been perfect - picture perfect. The next morning would bring phone calls and performances and flashing lights and applause, but in the sunset she found something special, a closure to the good things of her day and a final goodbye to the bad.

It was the last time she ever felt completely safe and at peace, that day before the world erupted and fell into chaos.

Before the outbreak they now "jokingly" referred to as z-day.

Sunset had been her favorite time of day; she loved seeing the lights come on in the city, her city. That was when New York really came to life. Cars turned into rivers of yellow-white and red lights, like blood running through the veins of the city, and the buildings lit up and glittered like stars.

Like magic.

Sitting on the roof of her beloved, battered Bronco in the middle of a desert, she still found the sunset beautiful, but now in the way one would consider a prowling tiger to be. In her new world nighttime belonged to predators who roamed free, stalking through the wasted remains of humanity. It was not a time for people - for the living - anymore. Rachel had pretty good vision, but she couldn't see in the dark. None of them could. Instead she had to rely on her other senses when the light went out, especially her hearing - and she heard everything. Her damned ears were sensitive; it had been a gift when it came to music, but at night when monsters crept in thick shadows it was a curse. Her imagination could take anything and turn it into what she feared most. The slightest of sounds had her body flooding with adrenaline, muscles tensing close to the point of pain, because she knew and her body knew: stay alert, stay alive.

No one could ever be safe when the dead walked.

Reaching up, she shoved her aviators up to sit on top of her head and sighed heavily. In her other hand her one constant companion warmed her palm. For the longest time the pistol had felt foreign and absolutely wrong in her hands. She'd never liked guns, or violence, but since the outbreak she didn't feel right without one. Thankfully she'd learned to shoot fast enough to save her life and over time had become deadly accurate with her treasured nine millimeter. It had bothered her at first, her dependence on such an object. Like a child with a stuffed animal she carried it everywhere, slept with it, and loved it - even named it.

Soon enough it no longer bothered her.

Absentmindedly, she toyed with the weapon, ejecting the magazine and slamming it back home, over and over. The sound and feel of it was comforting, better than any lullaby. Click, slam! Click, slam!

Tonight the convoy was more subdued than normal. They'd lost another one at their disastrous last gas stop in cozy little Marathon, Texas. There were so few left, down to eleven counting her, and only three of those had been with her since the beginning. Right after she'd 'borrowed' the Bronco and started her way across the country.

Those days… she remembered them even more clearly than her time on Broadway. Endless hours spent driving, looking, and daydreaming about finding her friends and family. To be reunited with one familiar face, that was all she'd wanted. She just wanted to find one person who knew her, really knew her. Not just Rachel Berry, the actress. Those first few days she'd reminded herself of high school Rachel. She was different now, of course, smarter, harder, far less trusting, and certainly not as naive. She'd always been strong, she thought, but still a lot had changed. The desert had seen to that, slowly stripping and rebuilding her. The things that she'd seen - horrific, twisted things that even her worst nightmares couldn't compare to - had been too much for the Rachel Berry of Before. Her evolution had been painful, from the squeamish, spoiled diva to what she was now. She'd had to learn how to protect herself and those who had started to depend on her, and in the course found that her heart no longer sat on her sleeve for anyone to take a piece of. The fact that she couldn't save everyone had been a lesson very hard learned. No matter how many times over it she still couldn't keep from breaking down sobbing in the back of the Bronco after someone was lost. She tried to keep face around her people, wanting to be the strong, fearless leader for them, but it was something she still had to work on. After all she was still human, still Rachel, and part of her wasn't sure that completely losing her attachment to life was a great idea. How much could she amputate from her soul before she was nothing more than a shell of who she used to be? And what then would be the difference between her and the sorry creatures who hungered for them?

Five years had passed, five years full of tears and sweat and so much blood. Too much blood. A lot of it on her violence worn hands.

The only thing Rachel clung to, the only thing she really had left to cling to, was hope. It lingered on inside of her, fragile but persistent. It refused to die, struggling against the desolation of her situation. A light that would not go out.

She laid her pistol, Mick, against her stomach and rubbed her freed fingers against her sternum, using the contact to help rein her thoughts back in.

Her eyes strayed from the dying rays of sunlight to the huddle of bedraggled survivors around a small fire - her people, her family, her merry band of misfits. They were all filthy and tired, worn from the constant travel and beatings from both sun and sand. She knew them all, their names and their stories. The tallest of the figures was Ethan, the closest thing she had to a best friend. He reminded her of her father with his dark skin and rumbling voice. A towering bear of a man, Ethan had been a cop in Detroit; she'd picked him up and three others he'd saved. When she introduced herself as Rachel Berry, the singer, he'd taken her hand and said that she was a warrior, she just hadn't known it yet. He told her that who they had been didn't matter anymore, and that they were all new, born again, getting a second chance at life. Even if it wasn't the life they would have chosen.

At the time she'd wanted to scoff at his words. It had seemed a strange thing to say after just meeting someone, even if that someone had just saved your life from reanimated corpses. Now that conversation held a special place in her heart, and whenever she felt like a failure and wanted to scream to the heavens that she was just a fucking Broadway singer she would remember Ethan's words and the conviction with which he'd said them. He'd meant it, he still meant it, and Rachel loved him for it.

Rachel slid her palm up from her chest and rubbed at the back of her neck, wincing at the tension she felt there. Sleeping in the cab of the Bronco was not exactly the best thing for a person, nor was traveling endless hours with the constant tension they all had to deal with. Every day felt like it could be their last – because it _could_. It lead to more than body aches. Rachel was not immune to that either; she'd had her fair share of temper flare ups, though she hadn't done any "diva storm outs" in a long time. Ethan tended to sense an oncoming fit and steal her away from prying eyes so she could take it out on whatever they had handy. Sometimes she beat her Bronco with her fists, ranting and yelling until Ethan stopped her, and sometimes... sometimes he let her cry until she couldn't anymore. They all needed an outlet of some sort to keep them sane, something to keep them feeling alive, and when Rachel's threatened to drown her Ethan was her lifesaver pointing her back to shore.

Reminding her of her true outlet.

"Imagine there's no Heaven," Rachel sang softly, letting the stress fall away as she lost herself in her music. "It's easy if you try. No Hell below us, above us only sky..."

"Rachel?"

Her voice tapered off as she bent over the edge of her perch, smiling tiredly down at Kevin. He was a tiny waif of a man, the most ridiculous and complete cliché of a computer technician.

"That's my name."

"Are you going to eat tonight?" His blue eyes looked so hopeful, and she caught the worry in his voice.

"I suppose if I say no you'll just guilt me into it," she responded with an exaggerated eye roll. They were running low on food - they both knew it - and she'd gone to skipping meals to make sure that everyone else could eat. She was certain that she could spare it, and the children in their group needed it more anyway. With a huff she slipped her long, jean clad legs over the side and pushed herself off the roof. The sand caught her and she held her arms up like an Olympic gymnast after sticking a perfect ten landing.

"I give it a three," Kevin said, holding on to his glasses as he nimbly dodged her playful punch.

"Whatever, hater. Lead me to the food."

Their food consisted of whatever canned goods they could scavenge; there was no such thing as "fresh" anything anymore. Rachel had winced at every meal for a long time, unaccustomed to eating like that. It had wreaked havoc on her for quite some time, but veganism was a luxury she simply didn't have any more.

Still, she took her can with a small smile for Kevin and wandered back to her vehicle, waving at the troop of kids playing with a ragged soccer ball.

With her dinner opened (pork 'n beans, she'd noted with a sigh) she sat back against a tire and rubbed at her arms. Having never been in a desert before she'd been rather unhappy to learn that it was actually quite cold at night, and sometimes even during the day if the wind kicked up enough. She didn't know what season they were in, but summer seemed out of the question with how fucking chilly it got. Her jacket was inside on the passenger seat where she'd left it the night before, leaving her in her once white tank top to face the chill.

Rolling her eyes at herself she shook her head and then began to yank her hair back into a ponytail. Forget about her fancy hair products and other hygiene items, hair ties were precious things. She'd nearly cried in frustration after breaking her last one. Her hair had gotten long and even though they trimmed it as best they could with an old pair of scissors it was still a lot; she hated getting the strands of ebony in her food.

Especially in the pork 'n beans. That smell lingered and they didn't exactly have access to showers or enough water to waste on something as simple as getting clean. Unless it was absolutely necessary, they waited for rain storms or sometimes streams, rivers, or creeks - any body of water really - to bathe.

With a tilt of her head Rachel dumped some of her orangey colored "dinner" into her mouth and didn't bother with chewing, just swallowing as quickly as possible. It may not twist her stomach in knots any more, but that didn't mean it tasted any better. The can became empty a lot faster than she'd anticipated and instead of satisfaction at a full stomach, she felt only guilt.

Always with the guilt. Her meager meal could have been saved to feed someone else as their supplies dwindled. They'd have to try and find another place to search for food soon, and when they did the chances of losing another person were high. No matter how careful they were it was a probability that she couldn't avoid, and the worst part was the thought that it would mean one less starving belly.

Her mood fell further as she scowled at the empty can in her hand, hurling it as far away from her as she could launch it.

"Hey, Xena," Ollie greeted as he cautiously approached. She jumped and sheepishly wiggled her fingers at him, hoping he hadn't seen her disagreement with her dinner. He ruffled his curly hair and then pulled the Yankees cap snugly back over the unruly nest. "You ready for your performance?"

"I was born ready," she quipped automatically. Accepting the hand he held down towards her she let him pull her up to her feet.

Ollie was referring to the broadcast they made every time they stopped to make camp. He had a mobile radio set up in his fifteen passenger van and Rachel felt that they should take the time to reach out to any others who might still be fighting to survive. It had worked, too. They'd picked up five who'd heard their transmissions and come running for the small beacon of hope.

If there was one thing that had stayed always constant in her life, it was her love of music. She'd never stopped singing. Lyrics remained in her memory while other things slipped away. She sang at night sometimes, around the fire while everyone ate, and it was Ethan who'd suggested she sing over the radio.

Never able to back down from an opportunity to share her voice, she'd readily agreed, and now she did every night. They'd send their initial message: where they were, where they were headed the next day, and an invitation to join them, and then Rachel would sing.

She hoped that the music might bring some form of comfort to anyone who could hear it.

"What's the song tonight boys?" she asked with more enthusiasm than necessary.

"Becca asked for 'Amazing Grace'," Ollie said, inclining his head towards the young girl on the far side of camp.

"I can do that." Rachel climbed into the van after him and rubbed her hands together. "One of these days if we can find a notebook and pen, I should write some lyrics down. We could have our very own Hymnal of the Apocalypse."

Ollie snorted, fiddling with the radio. "Rhianna never appeared in any Hymn book I've ever seen."

"Pity," Rachel murmured as he handed her the microphone. "If there's anyone out there listening to this we can help you. Our current position is..."

* * *

TBC...


	2. Chapter 1

AN: Here we go, on to the main action. Hope you enjoy. Also (Sarah), please remember that goats are evil.

* * *

In his life Before, Andrew had lived in Las Vegas. Beautiful, trashy, wonderful Las Vegas – back Before - before the city had died and the desert buried it like some long lost Egyptian city.

He hadn't been rich or all that important, but he'd loved his life. Playing piano in a swanky little bar hadn't done much more than pay the bills and his tab... it had been enough though. He'd gotten to do something he honestly loved - and then there were the girls to consider. God, they were everywhere.

It had been perfect, and Andrew had never had any intention of leaving behind the glitter of Vegas.

Until, like in that stupid movie – the latest and greatest zombie, end of the world whatever – fucking zombies had ruined everything. Except, unlike in the movies, it was very real; his neighbor really was snacking on the pizza delivery guy instead of the Domino's pepperoni he'd ordered.

Andrew had survived and spent a year by himself, mostly, first getting his ass the hell out of Vegas and then holing up in whatever 'safe' place he could find while scavenging what he could. He wasn't Rambo or even that badass chick from the zombie movie. He was just Andrew the piano man, looking out for numero uno. That had worked out for awhile, and then Rachel Berry and her convoy had showed up and he thought he'd finally gotten lucky.

But now - sitting in the desert with only the moon for light and in a dugout on lookout duty - now he wondered for the millionth time if he'd made the right choice.

Sure, he was safer now, traveling in numbers, and there was more food (or there had been), but as time went on he found himself hating the convoy more than appreciating it. Traveling all day, cooped up with a bunch of other dirty people, sweating his balls off under the sun, only to make camp, sleep for a few hours and then do it all over again. He hated it, missed the freedom and selfishness he was afforded when it was just him looking out for himself. More than that, he couldn't stand being bossed around by Rachel and her 'leader' group. He wasn't a soldier, had no desire to be one either, and all this trench digging and following orders business was seriously grating.

The pipsqueak was loud and, yeah, maybe kind of intimidating, but he'd gotten to where the sound of her voice made him start imagining her death. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how Rachel had gotten to be the 'big boss' around the convoy. The woman was a _singer_, and everyone treated her like she was some warrior goddess from another planet.

"Andrew, dig a hole to sit in. Andrew, we're going to need you to risk your life staying up all night to watch for zombies. Andrew, make sure to scream really loud when the zombies start to eat you so we can save our asses. You don't mind, do you?" he mumbled sleepily and propped his bristly jaw up on his palm. He glanced over at the circle of vehicles, and glared when his gaze landed on Rachel's Bronco at the head. She was probably asleep, snoring and maybe drooling, curled up on the bench seat all comfortable and warm. Andrew snorted and turned his attention back to the never ending expanse of desert before him. The wind happened to pick up just as he did and he caught an eyeful of gritty sand. Cursing under his breath he blinked rapidly and resisted the urge to rub. Rubbing made it worse; he'd learned that first hand. Tears filled his eyes and he pressed his shirt gently against them, hoping they would flush out on their own. He didn't want to waste water.

When the stinging finally became bearable again he squinted through heavy eyelids back out on the plane. Still nothing.

Of course there was nothing. They were in the _fucking_ desert.

Andrew caught himself just as his head started to bob, sleep threatening to drag him under whether he wanted it or not.

Damn Rachel Berry and her surveillance shifts or whatever she called them. It was like some form of psychological, brainwashing torture.

His eyelids drooped and he decided he could get away with a few seconds of rest. A cat nap. It's not like anyone was going to catch him and the desert was as empty as it always was. He would have bet his life that it would stay that way all night – so he could afford some shut eye. There was no danger out here, no matter what Rachel thought. Just tumbleweeds and the occasional ground squirrel thing.

Checking the convoy one more time, to make sure nobody was checking on him, he sighed and dipped his chin down to his chest. Smirking as his eyes closed, he promised himself it was only for a couple of minutes.

* * *

The first gunshot had Rachel bolting upright in the cab of her truck, mind clear, sharp and focused, like she'd gotten more than a couple of hours of nightmare plagued sleep. At the second she was already scooping Mick up from the floorboard and rolling out of the Bronco directly into Hell.

It was complete chaos. People were screaming, running, guns were going off left and right – it sounded like popcorn. But the flash of the muzzles and the screams and shouts of her people did not remind her of movie nights.

"Ethan?" She yelped and ducked as a bullet went whizzing past her head. "Ethan!"

"Rachel, here!"

She jerked and squinted in the moonlight, and finally caught sight of Ethan crouched against the grille of his dusty Suburban, a troop of terrified children huddled close behind him. Rachel scrambled out from the relative cover of the driver side door and pitched herself towards him. "The fuck?" she asked rather poignantly.

"Scavengers." Ethan growled through gritted teeth. He popped up over the hood of the vehicle and fired off a few more rounds, a chorus of yelps and groans answering the crack of the rifle. Rachel peeked around and winced as shadowy figures swarmed the truck where they kept their food. She brought Mick around and squeezed the trigger. Two figures dropped. Her heart jumped into her throat, threatening to strangle her, when she saw two more shadowy shapes pulling a shrieking woman from the van.

Setting her jaw she turned her face up to Ethan. "Put the kids in the car and get out of here."

"Rachel…"

"Take them and _go_," she ordered, pinning him in place with a hard glare.

Satisfied the he would do as told, Rachel set her sights back on the woman being dragged away by her hair. Biting into her lip she edged her way around the car and fired again, unsurprised to hear Ethan's rifle go off beside her offering covering fire. She gladly accepted the brief help and took off crouched low, cradling her pistol. She fired again, hands steady around the familiar grip and felt, more than heard, the chamber lock back. Out of ammo. She'd managed to hit one of her targets and she didn't even spare him a glance as she kept after the hulking mass dragging a member of her convoy. Shoving Mick back into the holster strapped to her thigh she pushed herself into a sprint, closing the gap between herself and the barbaric bastard. Tossing herself onto his back they hit the sand, and Rachel felt her teeth click together as her nose smashed into his shoulder blades. She groaned, laying flat on top of the stunned man. When she turned her head she saw the other woman nearby staring at her with wide eyes.

"Run!"

He was so much bigger than her and most likely armed, and she knew if he made it to his feet he'd easily overpower and kill her. Slapping at her thigh, she searched for her Ka-Bar but came up empty handed, realizing in the fleeting moment that it was still sitting on the dash in her car.

Adrenaline urged her to flee, but something else - something stronger - had taken hold.

Anger.

Rachel clasped her hands together and brought them down with all the force and weight she could, slamming her fists down at the base of the scavenger's neck. He fell back down with a grunt and she scrambled to her feet, lashing out with her foot and aiming at his face. The toe of her boot connected with a satisfying crunch.

Her nose was bleeding - she could feel it running, hot and sticky, down her face, mixing with the dirt and leaving grit in her mouth. She spit a mouthful of coppery tasting sludge and drew her foot back to kick again.

He reached out too fast for her to avoid and grabbed her ankle, yanking with a steely grip. Her breath left her in an explosive whoosh as her back collided with the ground and she gasped, trying in vain to get air back into her body as he flopped on top of her.

She tried to crawl backwards out from under him but he pinned her hips to the ground and then sat on her stomach, effectively trapping her. Rachel threw a vicious cross, her attacker merely leaning out of range of her fist and then capturing her wrists, slamming them down above her head and using one meaty paw to clasp both and keep her from trying to punch or claw at him again. She didn't scream or shout, knowing it wouldn't do any good at all. Struggling to get a hand free she pitched her hips up, trying to throw him off balance or off of her in general, the only sounds escaping her mouth grunts and growls of exertion and fury.

He reached down at his waist and pulled a wicked looking hunting knife from his belt. Rachel's stomach plummeted as she eyed the nasty curve of the gut hook gleaming at her in the moonlight, and she screwed her eyes tightly shut, waiting for the white hot pain to light up her senses.

"Hey!"

Rachel jerked at the voice – she knew that voice – and opened her eyes just in time to see a woman slap the man on top of her with a shovel. It rang dully as it bashed against his head, and he dropped off of her with a groan.

But her savior wasn't done, turning and bringing the shovel down again, swinging it like an axe. Rachel had to look away as the blows continued and the wet sound made her want to gag.

When the noises ceased she peered up again and froze.

"Quinn?"

"Rachel?"

Rachel licked at her chapped lips and tried to figure out something to say in response, but then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and could only shout, "Ethan, no!" a second too late.

The butt of his rifle had already connected solidly with Quinn's temple.

* * *

It was like being in a time-warp. Seeing Quinn Fabray appear had thrown her back into the past as surely as a time machine.

Sure, Quinn was older, dirtier, than the memories Rachel hung on to, but she was still _Quinn_. There was no mistaking those features. Hell, _everyone_ in the convoy was likely to recognize her from the stupid, tattered, sun-bleached billboards they drove past that boasted Quinn's face - promoting her latest and greatest film. It was different for Rachel. So different. When she saw those billboards she didn't think of a movie star, or lament over the fact that they'd never see the sequel to Quinn Fabray's last movie. She thought of cheerleaders, red and white skirts, annoyingly effortless grace and elegance... Then her thoughts would taper and she'd chase them around her head like Alice after the White Rabbit. Hazel eyes that could spear you in an instant and make you quake with fear, but also held the power to weaken your knees and steal your breath with the bottomless sadness they could project. She'd think of pink hair and babies with perfect blonde curls. Sometimes she thought of Sharpie markers and embarrassing bathroom graffiti, and invariably a softly sung duet.

Crouched in the back of the Bronco right next to Quinn's shoulders, Rachel shook her head to clear out the cobwebs of the past and carefully sat down to take the stress off her legs. She hadn't expected Quinn to be out so long, but Ethan had apparently hit her harder than she'd thought. Her fingers twitched in her lap, itching to touch that bruise blossoming on the side of Quinn's face; somehow she doubted the gesture would be appreciated should sleeping beauty decide to wake at the caress of calloused fingers. Rachel sighed and rolled her head back, palm against the base of her neck until she felt and heard a satisfying crack and settled back to wait some more.

Quinn's people had protested rather heatedly when Rachel had Ethan move Quinn into the Bronco. They stood a good distance away crowded around the front of their beat up Silverado, all with their arms crossed – Rachel could feel them glaring even across the distance.

But she didn't care - not in the slightest - how they felt about the situation. Not when someone she knew from Before was here, not a figment but actually physically present. She'd be damned before she let them take Quinn away and drive off into the horizon.

Fuck that.

There were only three of them, two lanky men and a woman who looked even shorter than Rachel herself, but they were armed to the teeth and better equipped than anyone Rachel had come across in a long time. Kevin was keeping an eye on them and the rest of the group was giving them a lot of space, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to be intimidated. Quinn was with them, after all, so as badass as they were playing things she figured they weren't going to be any trouble at all.

"Rachel, this is a bad idea," Ethan said, announcing his presence as he came around the Bronco. His gaze remained trained on the three fuming survivors as he spoke, ever the protector.

"You hit her in the head with a rifle, Ethan." Rachel shot him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye before returning her attention to Quinn.

"Yes, I did. I thought she was going to kill you." He winced and turned to regard Rachel, who was still watching Quinn with a hopeful look, pointedly ignoring him. "What I meant was… we should have just given her back to them with an apology. We don't need to go making enemies."

"I know her," Rachel barely breathed, hardly able to believe it herself, saying it aloud just made it more surreal. She _knew_ this person.

"We all know her," Ethan grumbled and shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's Quinn Fabray, big time, bad-ass action movie actress extraordinaire."

Rachel snorted and swiped at the sweat gathering at her hairline. "No, I mean I _know_ know her. We went to school together."

"You went to school with Quinn Fabray?"

"A long time ago, a _lifetime_ ago." Rachel smirked at the incredulity in his tone, already replaying various past memories. "She actually probably did want to kill me a couple of times back then, but we were friends."

"You realize that sounds ridiculous? Two of the biggest names in the entertainment industry went to the same tiny school in Nowhere, Ohio?"

"It may sound crazy, but it's the truth." A traitorous hand moved before Rachel could catch herself and her fingertips grazed through the smear of dirt along Quinn's cheek.

Quinn mumbled and twitched at the contact, just as Rachel predicted she would. Hazel eyes slowly opened to half mast and then flew fully open as Quinn jerked awake. Rachel grimaced, grabbing Quinn's shoulders to keep her from moving too much, too soon. "Quinn," she said, thrilled to hear that name come out of her mouth - so thrilled in fact that she had to say it again. "Quinn, slow down. You took a nasty blow to the head, just be still for a second."

A deep groan passed Quinn's lips and she lifted her hand to her temple, no doubt seeking the source of one hell of a headache. "Good thing he didn't want to waste a bullet," she grunted, squeezing her eyes shut again with a whimper. "Fuck, my head is going to explode."

Rachel took a deep breath. "Ethan, please go tell them that she's awake now."

"Sure. And when they demand that we release the hostage?"

"Just do it," Rachel demanded, watching Quinn's eyes blink heavily a couple of times.

"Rachel?" Quinn moved her jaw back and forth, as though the name felt funny and foreign to say. Rachel could relate. "Rachel _Berry_?"

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel said, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"I thought I imagined you," Quinn said and struggled to sit up on her elbows, squinting over in Rachel's direction. "Fucking small world." She let out a huff, reaching out to briefly poke a finger into Rachel's shoulder.

"Smaller now," Rachel replied, snorting. "I have this odd urge to ask how you've been, but I think I know the answer."

Quinn rubbed slow, little circles against her temples. "I'm not sure how one makes small talk in times like these. Beautiful weather we're having?"

Laughter bubbled up in Rachel's chest and she covered her mouth to keep it contained to a light chuckle with some effort. "Can't complain... though the lack of sunscreen is problematic."

"Q, you alright?" A low voice interrupted and Rachel quickly spun, her hand seeking Mick automatically but stopping before she even made contact. The dead didn't speak, or ask how someone was doing. She found herself almost nose to nose with the burliest of Quinn's group, his hard brown eyes daring her to shy away from their proximity. Rachel set her jaw and before she knew what she was doing she'd redirected her hand and set it possessively on Quinn's shin.

"Yeah, Chevy," Quinn cleared her throat and sat up further, pulling her leg away from Rachel's grasp as she folded them under her. "I don't suppose we have any aspirin left?"

The man, 'Chevy', grunted and leaned around Rachel to take a closer look at Quinn's head. "You wish. That big lug got you pretty good, huh?"

Rachel stiffened but Quinn placed a hand on her knee and her retort died in her throat, all her focus on the strong, warm grip.

"Chevy I'd like you to meet Rachel. Rachel this is Chevy." Quinn waved between the glowering pair with her free hand; she squeezed the other still on Rachel's knee. "Rachel and I went to high school together."

"John Chevalier," he said, warily stretching a gloved hand out to Rachel – the other stayed on the M4 slung tight across his chest. "Call me Chevy."

"The other two," Quinn said, inclining her head towards the swiftly approaching figures. "Luz and Alex."

"Yeah, hi, whatever. Q, can we please get the fuck out of here?" Luz said as soon as she was within earshot. She narrowed her eyes down at Quinn's hand on Rachel's leg and quirked an eyebrow.

Quinn slid her hand away from Rachel and started scooting towards the tailgate.

"You got someplace to be?" Ethan asked, sarcasm practically dripping from the words.

"We do actually, and this pit-stop, fun and adventurous as it was, isn't on the schedule. Q, we need to go," Alex said.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked before she could think about it. All she knew was Quinn was close to leaving, close to disappearing from her life again. Everyone else she knew in the world was gone and the thought of watching Quinn drive off made her stomach twist up.

"Rachel," Ethan grumbled, stilling her forward movement with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She hadn't even realized that she'd pitched forward, like she was going to chase Quinn across the sand. "Let them go."

Thankfully, Quinn hesitated and turned back to Rachel. Those eyes seemed to peer directly into Rachel's soul, hauntingly familiar, and she felt something flutter in her stomach, not nerves but something else – something she hadn't felt in far too long.

"Where are you going, Quinn?" Rachel repeated more directly, far too focused on other things to think about what she might be saying or how vulnerable she sounded.

"Are you staying here?" Quinn asked softly, not looking at her group as they made various noises of disapproval.

Rachel bobbed her head in a short nod, "We have to – there are some... things to be done today before we can leave."

It didn't need to be said, not with the bodies wrapped in meager blankets resting in the sand a few paces away. They would bury their dead and only then move on. There wasn't much they could do to prevent death, not in the world they were in, but Rachel was adamant that they pay their respects. She couldn't and wouldn't leave her friends behind to be picked at by animals and the once-human creatures that chased them.

Quinn frowned and finally acknowledged her comrades. "You guys can go. I'm staying to help... choice is yours."

"Fuck, Q, you think we'd leave you?" Chevy barked, scrubbing at his dirty neck. "This is stupid but you're one of us."

She was more than that though, and Rachel could see it. These hardened people followed Quinn – much like the masses at McKinley had.

Yet another thing that time and circumstance hadn't managed to change. Quinn Fabray was a leader, always had been and always would be. No matter how much she may not want it.

"Thank you," Quinn said and inclined her head back towards their truck. "Get settled, get some food. I'll be there in a minute."

"Not sure we should leave you here by yourself," Alex said, eyeing Ethan. "What if the blind one hits you in the head again?"

Rachel bristled at that, ready to defend Ethan, but Quinn beat her to it.

"It was an accident - we all have those. I'm fine and I don't need you to babysit me," she said firmly, reclaiming her seat on the tailgate. "Make yourselves useful and get the shovels out of the back."

Alex and Chevy shared a look and both shrugged before trudging off. Only Luz stayed behind, still boring a burning hole into Rachel, lip curled up like a feral dog.

"Lu, for fuck's sake," Quinn snapped. "I appreciate the loyalty but tiny here isn't going to hurt me."

"The longer we stay here the more danger you put _all_ of us in," Luz snarled back. "If you want to risk _your_ life and time for an impromptu high school reunion that's on you, but you're putting all of us in jeopardy."

"I know you're bitter because of what you've lost," Quinn growled, hand once again on Rachel's knee. "We've all lost. Don't resent me for this. I know you're in a hurry – we're all in a hurry to get one more day. We will leave, but maybe if you could calm down and ditch the jealousy you'd see that this could be good for _all_ of us. When was the last time we saw other people? Living, breathing, struggling people. You want to have a bitch fest we can do that later. Just not _now_."

Luz's face hardened even further and she lashed out suddenly, punching the side of Rachel's Bronco before storming off in the direction of the truck, spitting out a swift stream of Spanish as she went.

"I'm sorry," Quinn said quietly to both Ethan and Rachel. "I'm sure you know what living like this does to people. She'll warm up eventually. They all will."

Ethan pursed his lips, and then said, "It's alright, we're all teetering on the edge out here. It was nice to meet you, Quinn, and I'm very sorry about the knock to the head."

"No blood, no foul," Quinn said with a raised eyebrow and playful lilt to her gravelly voice. She shook Ethan's hand and then he too left them to their own devices after a quick ruffle of Rachel's hair.

"Where did you meet them?" Rachel couldn't help but ask, still watching Luz throw her tantrum with something akin to admiration. That was one hell of a diva storm-out if ever she saw one.

"Luz is actually a Super Stallion pilot out of Miramar," Quinn explained and shook her head. "That's, um, a really big helicopter the Marines use. Chevy is an Army Ranger and Alex is Air Force TACP. The three of them met in Iraq and have been attached at the hip since. I got lucky and ran in to them on my way back to... to Lima."

Rachel swallowed hard at the mention of home and the brutal memories that she did her best to keep away from during the day. It was bad enough to have them plague her nightmares; she didn't need them dragging her down while she was awake as well. "You went back to Lima?"

"Of course I did," Quinn said, her expression so tight that Rachel automatically reacted and put her hand on top of Quinn's and squeezed. "You didn't?"

"First place I went," Rachel admitted and exhaled hard through her nose as her eyes screwed shut. "So, you're a long way from Ohio. Where are you going?"

"We're going to the coast." Quinn swiped a drop of sweat off her nose and smiled a lopsided smile that threatened to break Rachel's heart completely. "The plan is to commandeer a freighter, or something, and then we'll go from there."

"A freighter? How the hell are you going to do that?" Rachel didn't want to sound incredulous but… "Did you learn to captain freight ships in your spare time in Hollywood?"

"There are ships out there dead in the water because the crew... We just have to get out to one and then we'll figure it out." Quinn shrugged, staring down at where their hands were clasped together. "Rachel, come with us?"

Some small part of her had been waiting for those words, for that invitation, but hearing it outside her own head knocked Rachel for a loop. She sucked in a deep breath and held it until her lungs ached and her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. Her first instinct was 'yes', unequivocally, forever 'yes'. Because it hurt so badly to think that Quinn could just leave. They might never have been close friends but any connection with the past was sacred now. It was so precious a thing to have someone who wasn't a stranger near. Rachel couldn't let go of her; she never had been able to, not even after High School – some small part of her had wondered about Quinn Fabray and here she was, finally asking Rachel to be a part of her life. Perhaps not in the context that Rachel had wished for, and maybe it had taken the end of the world to actually bring them together, but it was enough. It would have to be.

"Yes," Rachel said and nodded again, beaming when Quinn's face broke into a full smile. "I have to talk to my people though. They're my family now and I can't just leave them here without offering this idea to them."

"I understand," Quinn agreed and waved her free hand through the air. "We could honestly use all the help we can get, not just in making it to the coast. It's going to take more than four of us to run a ship. We were hoping that we might be able to reach out to any other survivors, offer them a place with us. Who knows, maybe we could start a new colony. Rebuild the human race."

"Those are wonderful aspirations, Quinn." Rachel hummed and raised her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. "Let me brief the troops, okay? They've been through a lot today already. I'll have an answer for you by nightfall."

"Do you want some help with the… we have some shovels," Quinn said, eyes flickering over Rachel's shoulder to the bundled bodies.

"If you wouldn't mind the hard labor," Rachel whispered, feeling the first sting of tears for her fallen friends. She'd had Quinn distracting her from it, but now there was no escaping what had to be done next. It would be another sleepless, tear-filled night.

"Living is hard labor," Quinn said bluntly and squeezed Rachel's knee again before hopping off the tailgate.

"Yeah," Rachel agreed, watching Quinn stride towards the Silverado from behind the safety of her sunglasses. Licking at her chapped lips she too slid off the tailgate and headed towards the small gaggle formation of her survivors, feeling guilty for the hope that made her steps feel lighter.

* * *

TBC...


	3. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you for the reviews, glad to hear you like it!

* * *

Quinn had been in New York taping an interview for her upcoming film when it happened. She'd been sitting in her hotel room, wet hair wrapped in a towel, phone to her ear and a smile on her face. Beth had been chattering on and on about school and how excited she was about getting to visit Quinn in Los Angeles that summer.

She'd been making mental notes to visit all the places Beth was asking about when the flickering television had caught her attention. Cutting her short, she'd promised to talk to her soon.

She'd lied.

At first Quinn had thought the whole thing to be a hoax of some sort, or that it was some other thing that the media was over-sensationalizing like always. After all, she starred in a series of action movies based around a zombie apocalypse and she knew that zombies were nothing more than terrifying movie monsters.

Slow moving, bumbling monsters who could easily be avoided or dispatched if necessary.

Now she knew better.

When reality snuck up on her – when she saw the streams of people dropping everything and running, when she heard the screams and gunfire – there was only one thing on her mind. The call to Shelby was immediate, and she assured her that Beth was fine, if a little frightened. The infection hadn't reached them yet but they were packing up and leaving for Shelby's parents place back in Ohio. Quinn agreed to meet them there and Shelby hung up before she had the chance to ask to speak to Beth.

She tried not to think about it now, to keep the what-if's at bay, but every time she closed her eyes she thought about her baby. About broken promises and trips they hadn't gone on. Birthday gifts she'd never delivered. Birthdays Beth wouldn't ever get to have.

Her dreams had been tame as of late, as benign as they could be considering. Or maybe she'd simply adjusted to the normal slew of nightmares. She hadn't dreamt of Beth or her mother or anyone she had known. When she woke up she was in the back of the truck with Luz, her head pillowed on one of their many packs and Chevy blinking at her from around the front seat, his palm warm on her knee.

"How's your noggin?"

"I'm hoping it will hatch soon," Quinn joked roughly, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep and carefully probing at the goose-egg.

"You sure about going with them?" Alex asked from the driver's seat, drawing her attention from Chevy to the activity going on outside their vehicle. She spotted Rachel in the gray dawn light darting from vehicle to vehicle, her wiry little body so different from what Quinn remembered. But it was still Rachel, and now that

Quinn knew that she couldn't seem to stop her eyes from seeking out her old classmate to watch her every move.

"Yeah," she answered distractedly, shaking her head to break her focus.

Rachel's convoy had voted unanimously to follow them to the coast; as Rachel had said to her after, they were all searching some kind of hope for the future and they'd found it in Quinn's plan.

It was more pressure to add to the weight already bowing Quinn's back. More mouths to feed, more names to learn – more people to get to know only to have them die. If there was only one lesson that Quinn had learned it was that people _left_, and in the place she found herself now they didn't just decide to leave of their own volition. They were taken. _Violently_. For that reason alone she didn't want to know them, even as she craved the connection. Something as simple as names to go with faces or as complex as their individual stories. They would be different and yet similar in the worst of ways. There wasn't a single person alive who hadn't faced loss. They were all soldiers now in a war they had no choice but to fight. Fight or surrender to the horrible teeth, claws, and endless hunger of the damned.

"You're doing that spacey thing again," Luz rumbled next to her, dark brown eyes narrowed to slits against the sun's glare.

"Sorry, I'll try to think less," Quinn quipped, turning to curl her lip up as she scrutinized Luz bedraggled appearance. "You look awful."

It had the desired effect, Luz barked a short laugh. "And you look like Sunday morning, gorgeous," she shot back, puckering her lips in the mockery of a kiss. "Oh baby, oh baby."

"You want me to do your hair and makeup for that red carpet appearance, Hollywood?" Alex snarked from the safety of his seat, out of reach of one of Quinn's well delivered smacks.

"I hate all of you." Quinn sighed, glaring at each of them in turn. Honestly, her fame had seemed more annoying than anything after the Incident. She hated seeing her face on billboards like never before, but it did provide endless fodder for jokes at her expense and she actually welcomed that, strangely enough.

Anything that could bring some sort of levity to their Tolkien-esque quest she would embrace with open arms.

A flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye pulled her attention from her joking friends, and once again she found herself watching Rachel. An idea struck along with a painful squeeze to her heart. "I think I'll just go where I know I'm welcome."

Chevy followed the direction of her stare and shook his head as he realized the current object of her obvious obsession. "Wow. Fine. Abandon us common folk for her royal snootiness; go on. You famous people gotta stick together I guess. Don't worry, we know when we're being cast aside."

Quinn could tell he was teasing, mostly, but there was an undercurrent of warning in his tone that she was simultaneously flattered and annoyed by.

"I'm a grown up," she reminded him flatly. "I don't need your approval."

"It's cool, Q, we get it," Alex commented. "Well, _I_ get it."

"Yeah, speak for yourself," Luz snarled, arms crossed across her chest. "I certainly don't understand your infatuation with she-Gollum."

Biting back the urge to remind Luz of her jealousy, Quinn instead gripped her trusty sawed off shotgun with one hand and opened up her door with the other, hopping out into the blazing sand. "That's your first nerdy reference of the day, Lu; don't think I'm going to stop keeping track just because your vitriol is no longer directed at _me_."

"Oooh, big words – I hit a sore spot," Luz snapped, but her eyes were softer when they locked back on

Quinn's. A small smile tweaked at her lips and Quinn inclined her head slightly: _apology accepted_. "Get out of here, Encyclopedia Blonde, before I knock your ass out and stow you in the back with the rest of the junk."

Quinn held up two fingers. "That's two, _nerd_." She shut the door before Luz could fire back, grinning as she heard Chevy laughing and Luz ranting. Luz flipped her off, hand smacking against the glass, and Quinn leaned forward, making a big show of leaving a lip mark as she smooched the window.

"You still have your walkie, so when shit happens and you need me to rescue you expect payback, puta," Luz's voice crackled from Quinn's hip.

With an exaggerated eye roll Quinn turned away from the truck that had been her mobile home for months and waved them off as she headed towards the dusty black Bronco at the front of the line of vehicles. With each step her heart climbed a little higher up her throat, anticipation mixing with anxiety had her doubting her choice the closer she got.

Luz would never let her live it down if she went running back now and Quinn wasn't in the habit of backing down from things that scared her. Not anymore. So with a greedy gulp of hot air she yanked on the door handle and heaved herself inside the Bronco without another thought of running away. The tan leather, well worn and cracked with heat, creaked underneath her as she slid onto the bench seat and closed the heavy door behind her.

Rachel wasn't back yet from securing everyone else – it gave Quinn time to think up an excuse for her inviting herself into Rachel's domain. She nodded to herself when she had a good enough cover story thought up and then decided to take a quick inventory of her surroundings. After all, one could never be too careful and knowing all the exits, even in a vehicle, was a must.

The Bronco looked like the inside of most of the vehicles Quinn had been in since the Incident. The cab was clear of junk but the back was filled with supplies. Curious, she reached over the seat and dug into the nearest bag, finding all kinds of batteries. That only further piqued her interest, and she reached for the bigger, military sea bag next to it and had to bend her entire torso over the seat to use both hands and open it. She found clothes in that one. They even smelled vaguely clean.

"I'm the miscellaneous supply," Rachel explained from the now open driver side door, smirking when Quinn jerked at the sound. "Did you need something?"

Quinn slowly relaxed, her finger sliding away from the trigger on her shotgun. "No, sorry for snooping, I'm actually here to be your GPS."

"So you'll be telling me to turn the wrong way down one-way streets and most likely lead me into a lake?"

Rachel asked, grunting under her breath as she pulled herself into the driver's seat.

"I loved that episode of 'The Office'," Quinn commented, settling back in her seat with a rueful smile. "And if I manage to find a lake in this _lake of fire_ we're currently in, I will gladly steer you in its direction."

"I'd settle for a pond." Rachel sighed. "Are you really here to be my guide? No other reason?"

"I may have some ulterior motives," Quinn replied honestly, soaking in Rachel's presence much like she would gladly wallow in a dank pond at the moment.

Rachel nodded slowly, turning the key and smiling at the sound of the Bronco roaring to life. Truth be told, she'd been thinking about how she could get Quinn to agree to ride with her. Having someone from Before back in her life was the most terrifyingly amazing thing one could dare to hope for. She was flat out unable to deal with the thought of losing that tangible connection, fragile as it may be, to her old life. It had been a pleasant surprise to see Quinn gone from the Silverado and she'd allowed herself to get excited at the prospect of being near the other woman all day. "I expect nothing less of you."

Smirking to herself, Quinn adjusted her sunglasses and pried her walkie from her hip. "Alex, you've got the back end."

"Goody," came the quick reply.

Lifting her own radio, Rachel cleared her throat lightly and looked up into the rearview mirror. "Ethan, Ollie, Kevin – ready boys?"

"Can we stop at Starbucks?" Ollie sent back, the perfect touch of whine to his voice. "I want a Venti soy chai latte!"

"No, sorry, if you're nice I'll give you some coffee grounds to suck on when we set up camp," Rachel chuckled. Across from her Quinn gasped and reached over to snag Rachel's wrist.

"You have _coffee grounds_?"

"I'll share," Rachel promised. "Let's go boys. Eyes open for trouble." Shoving the Bronco into gear, Rachel paused to shoot Quinn a wide grin. "Giddy up?"

Quinn wrinkled her nose but waved her hand out at the open expanse of desert. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

They'd been driving in what was surprisingly comfortable silence for a few hours, though it was loaded and both women could feel the weight of it between them. Rachel's hands remained steady on the steering wheel, holding the squirrely vehicle true as they plowed through the desert leaving a sandy wake behind them. She risked another glance at Quinn, tongue heavy with questions she wanted to ask, regardless of how silly they seemed to her. Quinn was looking out the passenger window, one fist curled under her chin and the other cradling the walkie in her lap. It was strange to see her like that, again. She'd always been somewhat withdrawn in school – nose buried in a book or thoughts clearly off somewhere else.

Rachel had always hoped they were off somewhere better. Still hoped.

She had no opening line, really, to start a conversation with Quinn, and she fumbled a little longer, bottom lip caught in her teeth. One of them would eventually break the stalemate between them, she was sure of that, but at this point what she didn't know was _how_. It wasn't like they'd run into each other in New York or L. A. or even back in Lima, but now… now they were in the middle of godforsaken nowhere and the situation was less than ideal for a 'catch up'.

Finally, Quinn moved and Rachel turned to watch her while still trying to keep her eyes on the 'road'. It seemed the restlessness they were both feeling had caught up with Quinn as she started checking out the Bronco again.

An opening.

"It's not much, mostly blankets and clothes," Rachel commented lightly, wincing this time when Quinn jumped skittishly. "Sorry."

"No, I'm just – well…" Quinn trailed off, figuring that Rachel knew full well what she was 'just'. They all were.

"Yeah," Rachel nodded. "Quinn, can I – _may_ I ask about Lima?"

Quinn stiffened, eyes stinging behind the dark, polarized lenses of her Sawfly's. "Why?"

"I'm sorry, I was just…" Rachel sighed, rolling her eyes at herself. She hadn't been thinking before she'd opened her mouth. Her social skills may have been a tad bit rusty but generally her brain to mouth filter worked a hell of a lot better. Of course in Quinn's presence she'd found herself tongue tied and blurted out the one thing you never asked. Not right off the bat. She might as well have asked how Quinn felt about knowing that every other person she knew was most likely dead. "I didn't mean to upset you. You're the only person I can – "

"Share with," Quinn listlessly finished for her. "I get it, Rachel, but I'm not – I'm not at the point where I can talk about it. I don't know if I'll ever be there. I know it's been a long time..."

"Right," Rachel nodded again shortly, unable to keep her disappointment completely out of her tone. It wasn't that she wanted to dredge up her own painful memories or rake Quinn over the coals of hers, but the idea of being able to talk about it with someone who knew Lima – well she'd hoped maybe there might be some peace found there. Small or not, any sort of calm to her turbulent memory-fueled nightmares would be a blessing.

But she couldn't begrudge Quinn's reticence to talk about it, so they settled once more into silence.

Rachel had always prided herself on her massive vocabulary, one that didn't require her to resort to crudity to verbally lambaste someone or get her point across. However, when she saw Quinn had returned her attention back out the window and the pale hand that moved with rough quickness to swipe at a cheek, she couldn't find a single word to better sum up her feelings.

"Shit," she muttered, clutching tighter at the steering wheel to keep herself from smacking it.

All those years apart and Quinn Fabray could still reduce her to a stammering, stumbling, swearing idiot.

* * *

They stopped as the sun started its descent. Rachel and Quinn had gone the whole day without saying much of anything to each other and by the time the Bronco had rolled to a stop Rachel was already halfway out of the car and watching Quinn walk away.

She didn't even bother with hoping that Quinn might come back to try again; instead she threw herself back into her role as a leader, setting teams to work, preparing once more for the dangers of the night. One that would with any luck not bring a repeat of the previous evening.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Quinn again, waving her arms as she animatedly "discussed" something with Luz. Jealousy surged and Rachel bit down on her lip so hard she tasted the sharp tang of blood. She had no reason to expect that she and Quinn would instantly be best buddies, but it still hurt – just as it always had – to see Quinn being friendly with everyone else. Only Rachel had ever seemed to bring out that closed off, angry, defensive part of Quinn.

No doubt sensing the eyes tracking her movements, Quinn turned and stared right back, gaze lingering and heavy even across the distance.

Shaking her head, Rachel lifted a hand in a wave and then continued on her way, headed for Kevin's van.

There was already a line for food and Rachel made sure to walk up from the back, checking with each and every person to see how they were holding up. They all seemed tired, but they smiled at her, a new gleam shining in their eyes – hope for a better future now that they had some sort of plan beyond "drive to the horizon and then keep going". The children, especially, were very excited about the prospect of seeing the ocean, and they asked her all sorts of questions about sea life. Rachel did her best to answer them, having been a lover of the Discovery Channel and Animal Planet; she knew enough about dolphins and sea turtles to whet their appetites.

Finally, she made her way up to Kevin, who smiled at her in that fake way that never ceased to make Rachel's heart drop into her stomach every time she saw it. She knew what it meant but asked anyway.

"Kevin, how are things here?"

His smile actually tightened, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he bared his teeth at her in more of a grimace than a smile. "Same as always, boss. You know, it's peachy."

Rachel rubbed a hand against the back of her neck and pushed her sunglasses up her nose with the other. "Peachy" was their code word for "out of food". Kevin had picked it, of course, and he found it ironic while

Rachel found it depressing. "I'll talk to Ethan and see if we can't get a little more variety," she told him, grinning down at the little dirt smeared boy who was reaching up for his dinner. "Hey, Skyler, are you going to help me learn how to fish when we get to the coast?"

Skyler blushed, hands wrapped around his can of mystery food, and nodded shyly. Rachel held her hand out to him for a high five which he quickly delivered before racing off to join the other children gathering around Ollie for a campfire tale or two.

"Rachel," Kevin said, dragging Rachel's eyes away from the small group of orphans surrounding Ollie. He was holding a can out towards her and she stared at it for a long while before pushing it back towards him firmly. "Rachel."

"Not hungry. Thanks though," Rachel told him, quickly leaving him behind before he could chase her down and force the food on her.

She found Ethan easily enough. He often teased her about having "mad stalker skills", but the truth was she just knew him and it wasn't hard to figure out where he'd be. They were all predictable in their own ways. He looked up from the rifle he was cleaning on the tailgate of his Suburban and smirked briefly before returning his attention to the weapon. "Decided to mingle with us commoners?"

"Don't be like that," Rachel scolded, carefully perching on the tailgate and picking up the scope. "We're out of food."

"Rachel, we've been out of food for five years, but I suppose what you really mean is that we're dangerously close to the "red line"?"

Rachel curled her lip at him and pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to glare at him over the top of the frames. "I'm sure I've earned some sarcasm, but I'm not in the mood."

"Too bad," Ethan grinned at her, putting the rifle down. "I think you may need to sing a little Corey Hart

'Sunglasses at Night' this evening. Love the shades, babe."

With a huff Rachel pulled her Aviators completely off and shoved them on top of her head. "Ass."

"Yes Ma'am," he nodded and reached deeper into the back of the car, prying free a tattered map from one of the various cubby holes. He spread it out carefully for both of them to look at under the dim light from the car. "God, I miss the days of Google Maps."

"It would certainly help with the whole global positioning nightmare," Rachel groused, leaning over his burly shoulder to squint down at the map. "When you find a good spot for us to try for gas and canned goods let me know. We'll hammer out a plan later."

"Are you going to consult the cool kids?" he asked, his large hands splayed out along the map, dark eyes not even bother with a glance her way.

"I'm going to talk to them, yes," Rachel sighed again and leaned her forehead down on his arm. "Try not to be so sensitive; you know you're the favorite."

"Hmph. Well, see if they have a better idea of where we are and maybe get some more details other than 'drive West' from them."

"You can ask yourself since they'll be joining us for our planning," Rachel said, holding up her hand to stop him from objecting. "Nope, it's happening. I'm not saying you have to be nice, but I'm telling you that it's happening so you can go ahead and prepare your scathing marks ahead of time."

"How kind of you," Ethan grumbled. "Fine. You're the boss, boss. Best go get your transmission done while I figure this out."

Grinning to hide her apprehension of another face off between her people and Quinn's, Rachel leaned in and kissed his rough cheek. "You're a saint, and never let anyone tell you different."

"Blah, blah, don't try to sweet talk me now," he said, shoving her away lightly. "Go on now, get."

As soon as her back was turned to him the smile slipped off her face. Rachel looked up at the darkening sky and pleaded silently with whoever was watching that things would work out. Just this once.

After sending out the transmission (with a heartfelt rendition of Michael Buble's "Home") Rachel needed some space before trying to navigate her way through what would surely be a tense meeting around the back of the Bronco. The hostility between Quinn's group and her own had diminished slightly, but there was still an obvious separation between parties. Quinn had stayed away from her after their lovely car ride, and she'd caught a couple of glimpses of her people giving the newcomers a wide berth. She could only hope that by the time they reached the coast the two groups would be able to come together, otherwise it was going to be a longer trip than anyone had anticipated. Especially if they succeeded and ended up stuck on a ship together for God knew how long until they found a suitable place to relocate.

"Busy?"

Rachel hadn't heard the approach, too lost off in her own thoughts to be paying attention. A dangerous pastime she really couldn't afford. It was careless to get so comfortable. Her body jumped, muscles coiling, knife halfway from its sheath as her head snapped up so fast it burned her neck. The figure looming behind her was like the angel of death, finally coming to claim her. You could only be lucky for so long. She relaxed almost as quickly as she'd tensed when she made out who it was that had gotten the drop on her: Quinn. Of course it was Quinn, staring down at her and stepping the rest of the way out of the shadows, a curious expression just visible.

Quinn took the single shoulder shrug that Rachel offered as an invitation to drop down into the sand beside her old schoolmate. But neither said a word, both staring into the fire, contemplating their presence in each other's lives but unable to come up with anything to say.

"I saw your movie, um, the last one. The..." Rachel said, breaking the stalemate. She hesitated, seeing Quinn's eyebrow lift. The word was there, right on the tip of her tongue. She hated that word, felt that it diminished the very real horror they were all caught up in. _Zombie_. "The apocalypse one."

Amused at Rachel's dodging of the 'z' word, Quinn snorted. It was so very Rachel, charming and ridiculous. "Funny, isn't it?" She jabbed the stick she'd been fiddling with into the fire, hazel eyes flashing in the shower of embers that drifted up at the harsh poke.

"Not really," Rachel said softly - carefully - mesmerized with watching those eyes burn in the reflection.

The air between them seemed to crackle with hushed energy as they fell back to silence, Quinn seemingly content to continue to prod at the fire while Rachel stared at her struggling to find the words she needed.

"I wish… I wish that I'd gotten there sooner."

It could barely be called speaking, Quinn's voice was so soft, but Rachel heard it and picked up on the guilt that laced Quinn's raspy voice. Something inside her cracked at the familiar vulnerability and her mind raced back to a similar side by side conversation in a school hallway.

"Quinn," she started, faltering as the name crossed her lips. She was unsure of what she could say – these types of conversations didn't happen often, or at all, anymore. Quinn didn't need to give further details, Rachel knew what she meant, what she was referring to, but as for responding… Quinn was broken, more so than anyone else Rachel had encountered, more than Before even. Quinn always had been just a little broken. Without pausing to think it over first Rachel reached out because her words had failed her, laying her fingers on Quinn's knee.

Quinn twitched away, recoiling and almost cowering.

Rachel drew her hand back, unsure of what Quinn was seeing in her face but she hoped it was her unspoken apology. When Quinn looked over at her, though, tears shimmering in her eyes and a small, sad, little smile on her lips reminiscent of the one she'd given Rachel after their first and only duet – the nostalgia threatened to knock the breath out of her.

She'd been unable to find anything to say to Quinn, all those years ago. Now seeing that same expression again Rachel wondered what it meant. Quinn had always been a master of secrets, but now Rachel wondered if maybe - given enough time - she might learn what it was Quinn was saying to her without a single word.

* * *

TBC...


	4. Chapter 3

AN: I apologize for the wait. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

So many things - too many things - had gone wrong in the past five years, and not just the end of the world. Rachel had made mistakes, had lived through others' mistakes, and had learned from them. Mostly. She'd certainly learned enough to know that she didn't ever want to repeat any of them again if she could avoid it.

She'd learned that mistakes almost always lead to someone's death, and that even almost is far too high a price to pay for the experience garnered.

She used her pricey experience when she planned things, tried to adapt those lessons to refine things, but no matter how hard she tried or how tirelessly she strived for perfection she always ended up wrong. It wasn't a game, and yet she was still losing it.

Which was why she was sitting in her Bronco with the door wide open trying her best to rein back her scampering thoughts, to hold the leash a little tighter. She had to get in the right mind, had to get to that place where she was no longer scared, sick-to-her-stomach Rachel but the new Rachel who didn't laugh in the face of fear. The one who charged into it anyway, despite the fear.

Outside the temperature was starting to drop as night approached, offering them cover but also adding a new layer of risk to their venture. Rachel shivered from more than just the chill, watching Ethan, Ollie, Kevin... _Quinn_ - her friends - still gathered around the back of Ethan's Suburban pointing at the map and making sweeping gestures at the horizon. They'd laid their plan out hours ago but the others were still scheming, trying to make it perfect. That would have been amusing if it wasn't also so telling. The Dead sought the living, and like sharks chasing the barest hint of blood they sensed them and would be drawn in. Always moving, searching, hungering, circling in closer and closer. No matter how much they planned, no matter how hard they tried, there was no avoiding the facts.

Perfection had never existed, and certainly the "perfect" plan had never been hatched in the new world.

Drawing in a shuddering breath that did little to calm her pre-"mission" jitters, Rachel bounced her head back against the headrest and then reached up on impulse, pulling down the sun visor to remove the picture trapped behind it.

It was faded and worn, the sun and time having done its best to erode the image, but Rachel's memory helped keep it sharp. She ran her thumb along the dog-eared edge and bit her lip as she looked at the old photo, her dads sitting on either side of a seventeen year-old Rachel on her birthday. All three of them were smiling at the camera with their arms around each other, happy. Rachel's heart thudded loudly in her ears as she continued to stare at the picture, even as it started to blur with the sting of tears.

She'd gone home. As soon as she realized what was going on, that it wasn't some sick joke that people were eating other people in the streets of New York, she went back to Lima thinking she could find safety in her childhood home with her fathers. Surely nothing that awful could exist within those walls. Lima, Ohio was _boring_ and the very idea that something like zombies could be there smacked against all reason.

How wrong she'd been. How _fast_ time moved when she didn't want it to. Her home had looked the same, the driveway still had that crack in it that drove her Daddy nuts, and the front door still had that stupid, wonderful bedazzled sign she'd made proclaiming "The Berrys!" on it. But inside it was wrong, all so wrong. The air was stale and without the lingering scent of those cinnamon candles her Dad liked, and there were no sounds of her parents in the house. She could taste the dust in the air and something else, something dank and sharp and sinister like a ghost waiting in the wings preparing to strike. The fine hairs at the nape of Rachel's neck and along her arms had stood on end, warning her further and she knew without seeing any evidence that she would not like what she was about to find. Dread settled over her in an unwelcome embrace, making her lips tremble as she looked up at the ceiling, too scared to move for the stairs just yet. She couldn't even make herself call out for them, their names stuck in her throat.

She found them upstairs, or at least she had found parts of one of them. It was forever etched in her mind - the overwhelming smell of dried blood, of things that she'd never imagined she would see in her life. The glint of a wedding band had caught her eye and she'd lost it, crumpling onto the floor, making sounds that she didn't even know she could make, and then she'd screamed until her voice went hoarse. She couldn't remember leaving the house, but the next thing she knew she was out of Lima on the road to anywhere, so long as it was away from everything. There was nothing left…

"Hey, Rachel?"

She moved quickly, slipping the picture back into place and using the movement to wipe her eyes on her arm. "Ye-ah?"

If Quinn noticed the crack in her voice she didn't say anything about it, though her approach slowed. Still she kept coming until she was hovering right outside the open door. "We're just about ready."

Rachel hummed, thinking to herself that none of them were ever really _ready_. "Okay. Guess we better load up then."

Quinn smiled and Rachel tried to return it, but she became distracted by the changes Quinn had made to her attire since the last time she'd seen her. "What are you... Desert Combat Barbie?"

"In this outfit? Please. More like Z-Day Survival Barbie," Quinn joked back, ducking her head sheepishly. "I call it Apocalypse Chic."

She really hadn't changed much, Rachel noted, just thrown on a drab green military style jacket over her frayed t-shirt and braided her hair, but still. With a snort, Rachel shook her head and turned to hop out of her truck. "Nice."

Quinn stepped back, giving Rachel more space than necessary as Rachel pretended she didn't notice and calmly reached back for her flannel shirt. It was her Daddy's - Leroy's - and it swamped her but she didn't really care about extra fabric. The smell of his cologne may have faded long ago, but it allowed her to feel close to him. She'd stolen a few of his shirts and a couple of her Dad's things as well, just enough for her to carry in a duffle bag, unable to stand the thought of completely leaving them behind.

The shirt didn't do much to keep the chill from biting at her but it would be more than enough when the adrenaline hit. Sneaking around in a dark and more than likely undead infested city would be more than enough to get her body wound up. A heavier coat would just make her sweat more and she had no desire to attract any more creatures than she could avoid.

Quinn left ahead of her, wandering back towards the Suburban, that familiar strut creating a pang of longing within Rachel. If only she could go back now, back to high school where the scariest thing in her world was seeing that strut paired with a cheerleading uniform. Go back to Before when her troubles came down to Glee, Mr. Schuester's attempts at ruining her life, and Finn. Always Finn.

Rachel watched them all for a moment longer, wondering what life would have been like had she married Finn. Would she have been in New York when the world ended? Would Finn have survived if he'd been with her? Somehow she doubted it, and it made her feel awful, but it was also too true for her to ignore. Finn was lost in the world before it had turned; he never would have been able to handle the new reality.

Rachel didn't think she'd have been able to keep him safe.

She couldn't keep anyone safe.

Shaking her head again for the millionth time, she set out to follow Quinn's path, watching her feet sink into the soft dirt of the desert. Quinn coming back had amped up her memory, it seemed, and she was finding herself lost in the past more often than ever before - whether it was a good thing or not.

"We'll need a - a _distraction_," Ethan was saying as she closed the gap between the group and herself.

A distraction. Her heart plummeted back into her stomach as she swallowed. A distraction meant _bait _and bait almost certainly meant a suicide mission. Nobody spoke for a long time, not even to greet her as she finally pushed herself into the circle. They wouldn't even make eye contact with one another.

"I'll do it," Quinn said, a tight smile gracing her features as several heads snapped up to stare at her.

Rachel bit into her bottom lip until she tasted blood, desperate to keep from shouting her objection to the heavens. She had to keep her cool; no one would believe her as the voice of reason if she couldn't keep a lid on her more volatile emotions.

"Quinn," Alex spoke up softly, and Rachel felt the first touch of guilt ridden relief. Surely Alex could be the voice of reason here and keep Quinn from doing something stupid. They'd find another way around without offering someone up to the devil.

"She could take the dirt bike," Chevy interrupted, jerking his thumb back towards their truck. "That should be enough of an edge to keep her out of their hands."

_No, no, no_, Rachel thought desperately, looking at Quinn and trying her hardest to project that thought.

Ethan, always so perceptive, took one look at Rachel's panic stricken face and put in his own opinion. "That doesn't seem like - there's another way, right? We could set something else up. Maybe park a car and blast the radio?"

"Look," Quinn sighed, tugging at the end of her braid. "I'm not.. guys, I'm just an actress, okay? Not a soldier, nobody's leader - an _actress_. One who happened to have ironically starred in a few films about zombies. I'm the obvious choice here. I did my own stunts and this isn't really any different. I'm good on the dirt bike, I'm lighter than the guys, and I can be useful doing this. So I'm going."

One glance at the steel behind Quinn's eyes and Rachel's protests died on her tongue. She couldn't argue, no matter how badly she might want to. Quinn was the perfect candidate, but she was wrong, too, because she was more than an actress. Maybe she wasn't a soldier, or a leader, but she was important to Rachel and the idea of her out there on her own made Rachel want to throw up.

There was nothing she could do. Quinn had always been _so_ stubborn, and if her mind was made up then that was that.

"I'll get the bike down," Alex offered, dragging Luz and Chevy with him.

"We'll go get the bags ready and put fresh ammo in the guns," Ollie added, nodding to Kevin and Ethan who immediately acknowledged the silent out.

That left Quinn and Rachel to finish their stare down in relative privacy.

Rachel licked her lips and looked away first, unable to stand those nameless emotions being directed at her so intently. "Quinn..."

"Rachel, it's not my first rodeo, and it's my choice. I'm no Milla Jovovich but I think I'll be fine."

Banishing the threatening tears and swallowing back a lump of _something _stuck in her throat, Rachel nodded shortly with the barest bob of her head. She still couldn't face Quinn - it felt too much like saying goodbye and she'd promised herself that _that _wouldn't happen. "Please - Please be careful."

Quinn's fingers were cold when they tentatively wrapped around Rachel's wrist, forcing her to make eye contact again. She gasped softly when she was caught once more in swirling hazel eyes. "I will be, but if it would make you feel better..." she reached down to her hip with her free hand and unclipped the walkie-talkie on her belt. "Here. Now you can keep track of me and boss me around to your heart's content. It'll be like old times."

Rachel grasped the walkie-talkie more eagerly than she would have liked, but it was like a lifeline being offered to a drowning victim. "Keep your word, Quinn," she warned when she found her ability to speak again. "I don't think I can handle anymore ghosts following me around."

"I'll be okay, really," Quinn said and released Rachel's wrist as though she'd just realized she still had hold of it. She clasped both hands in front of her and Rachel would have laughed at such a display of shyness if it weren't for Alex and Chevy walking back up, rolling the dirt bike between them.

"She's got a full tank of gas, so you should be good for awhile," Chevy informed Quinn, holding out the key for her. "Don't go trying any Evel Knievel stunts though."

"Wouldn't want to steal your thunder," Quinn teased, casting one last lopsided smile at Rachel before straddling the old bike. "So I'll just go on ahead and lead as many of them away from the areas you guys will be in. Meet back up at the hospital, right?"

Alex nodded, worry coming off of him in obvious waves. "If you get into trouble..."

"I know," Quinn promised and turned the key in the ignition.

* * *

They didn't wait long after Quinn had taken off towards the city, whooping and hollering and being as noisy as possible. Rachel was fairly certain that taunting the undead, calling them "fuckers" and belittling their existence, wouldn't actually do any more than the yelling, but it made the others smile.

Rachel wasn't smiling though, as she, Ethan, and Alex crept through the remains of the town toward the hospital. They couldn't take vehicles because it would attract the attention Quinn was risking her life to get, which left them on foot, jumping at shadows and clutching weapons that much closer.

There were three "types" of undead to look out for. The first two, the "crawlers" and the "walkers" weren't that concerning as they were easily outmaneuvered most of the time. The ones to be leery of, the ones that posed the biggest threat, were the "runners" - undead who somehow retained their ability to move like the living. They were deceptive as well, often times shambling towards their targets like any other walker, right up until they broke into a sprint. If you weren't careful, if you weren't fast enough, they would easily catch you and then it was all over.

Fortunately they didn't encounter any undead as they crept up on the hospital, but Rachel couldn't bring herself to be glad of their fortune, too busy wondering what it meant for Quinn and also wondering when that luck would run out.

Because it _always _ran out.

The automatic doors at the hospital were broken, some shards of glass still clinging to the bent frames while the rest crunched under their boots as they slowly moved into the desolate place. There were no lights, of course, and their flashlights only seemed to add to the creepy atmosphere.

Rachel had always hated hospitals - they smelled too much of chemicals used to try and mask the scent of death. She found the whole place to be fake and awful. While, yes, lives were saved or even born in hospitals, but they were also the place where so many people went to die. Now sneaking into one in the night with only the thin beam of her worn flashlight to illuminate her way, Rachel couldn't help but think that she'd been right.

Hospitals were death masquerading as a place for the living.

She shivered, half hidden behind Ethan's bulk as they slipped down a long corridor, peering into empty rooms. There were smears of blood along walls and skeletons gathering dust scattered around like litter.

"This place needs an exorcism," Ethan grumbled down to her, his voice barely audible.

Alex snorted behind Rachel, his pistol trained back the way they'd come just in case an ambitious creature decided to try and sneak up on _them_.

Rachel wondered again where Quinn was. She hoped she was alright. The walkie hanging from her hip was a reminder that someone was missing. It had been so long since Rachel had missed a living being that her anxiety was driving her to distraction.

"We should split up, cover more ground," Alex suggested.

"Considering that we're living in a horror movie, you really think that's a good idea?" Ethan huffed, but he stopped moving forward and dropped to a knee, twisting to shoot an incredulous look back at Alex. "And I count three minorities amongst this little party. Want to take bets on who dies first? The black guy, the Jew, or the Asian?"

"Well I can't die," Rachel said, arching an eyebrow as she peered past Ethan down the hallway. "I'm the hero."

"How do you know that _you're _the hero?" Ethan asked, his fake annoyance at her assumption stealing a smile from her. "Maybe I'm the hero."

"You're a man; it's not possible." Rachel shook her head and patted his bicep. "I think Alex is right though, we have a lot of ground to cover in here. Just keep your eyes open for monsters or some asshole with a bad attitude and a power tool of some sort."

"Lovely," Ethan sighed.

"Hey, but Rachel isn't half naked so we should be okay," Alex commented helpfully, already starting to head down the hall that branched away from them.

"Right. As long as I keep my shirt on we're safe, or I'm safe," Rachel agreed, flashing a grin at Ethan. "But that still means you have to be extra careful big guy, since the rules don't apply to men."

"Stupid gender rules," Ethan sighed.

"It's probably bad luck to joke about death in hospitals," Rachel said, lightly shoving Ethan away from her so she could take point. "I'm going this way. Yell loudly if you run into Jason."

"Be careful, babe," Ethan warned her. "I'm going to see if I can find the locker rooms."

"I hate to tell you but I don't think there will be any hot nurses taking a shower down there," Rachel teased. It did little to quell the terror rising in her chest, but it made Ethan smile.

"A man can dream."

They separated without another word between them. No need to say goodbyes, not for them. Rachel took a deep breath and held it until her chest ached, exhaling through her teeth and counting slowly to ten, then set her shoulders back and continued on her own down the now lonely hallway. She walked as stealthily as she could, rolling her feet from heel to toe to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible on the dirty linoleum floor. The further she got down the hall the louder her heart seemed to be pounding in her ears, and the louder her thoughts seemed to be as every sense she had strained for any clues about her surroundings and what might be lurking around the corner.

The walkie on her hip added a new weight to her pants, dragging them down - dragging her down - until she couldn't stand it anymore. She tugged the thing off her belt and glared at it until the urge she'd been steadfastly ignoring reared its head again and demanded her immediate attention.

Chewing on her lip, Rachel found the nearest empty room and backed herself into a corner, back hitting the wall with a solid thump. She slid down until she was squatting uncomfortably, back to the wall and most of her weight resting on her heels. "Quinn?" she whispered into the walkie, closing her eyes as she released the talk button. It was stupid and it was dangerous, but she wasn't going to be able to continue, not on her own, without knowing.

"Hey, Broadway, can't talk. Be safe," the walkie crackled back. Quinn was panting and half-shouting over the whine of the dirt bike and Rachel felt idiotic for risking so much for something so small. The relief was tainted with guilt, but it was still there, helping to ease the pinch in her chest. She should know better than to encourage Quinn Fabray to use any sort of electronic device while operating a moving vehicle, especially a dirtbike. Images flickered quickly: a ruined wedding, a totaled red Volkswagen, wheelchairs. Prom. Quinn's strength, the look on her face, and the determination mixing with pain as she forced herself to stand.

"Broadway," Rachel said aloud, snapping herself back into the present. Quinn had given her many nicknames, but she actually liked the sound of that one. It fit, somehow. "Hollywood and Broadway. Jesus, we could be a sitcom."

Something metal clanged to the floor, clattering and echoing loudly throughout the hospital. Rachel spooked hard and smacked her head back into the wall. Mick was back in her hand instantly, and she once again cursed herself for being so careless. Clipping the walkie safely back to her side she unfolded herself and gingerly stood back up, ignoring the tingling in her thighs as she stalked back out of the room.

"I'm going to need a bigger boat." Rachel barely breathed as she stepped into the hall and followed her gut down to the next room. Flashlight in one hand, Mick balanced on that wrist, she kicked open the door, all the fine hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms standing at full attention as she took in the room. A metal tray lay abandoned on the ground, and she just knew that was what had fallen.

"Is there anyone in here... alive?" she asked quietly, alarm bells ringing in the back of her head. She didn't feel... afraid. There was something there but whatever it was, she wasn't frightened of it.

"Please," a voice begged, the thick accent throwing Rachel for a loop just as much as the dark head of hair that appeared over the other side of the hospital bed. "Don't shoot."

"What the _hell _are you doing here?" Rachel asked bluntly, too shocked to be anything else in the moment. Stranger things had happened, certainly, but she was baffled at this turn of events. They hadn't expected to find anyone living.

"I'm a doctor," the woman said, slowly rising fully from behind the poor shelter of the capsized bed. "CJ."

"You're British," Rachel stated, blinking stupidly at the stranger. At CJ.

"And you're observant," CJ commented stiffly, hands still held up in the air like a hostage. "Please, I don't have anything of value to you."

"I'm not going to shoot you," Rachel said, offended at the idea. "Lady, this is your lucky day. Consider this to be your rescue."

"Rescue?" CJ's nose wrinkled and her hands wavered a moment before she dropped them limply to her sides.

"Ladies, perhaps we could save conversation for a later time," Alex chimed in, nearly earning himself a pistol whip to the head as he appeared behind Rachel.

"Fuck! Alex, warn me," Rachel hissed.

"Sorry, but I heard voices. You should be more careful, I could've been... something else."

Rachel bristled at the scolding, even if she deserved it, and opened her mouth to return a barb of her own when it occurred to her. "Where's Ethan?"

"Probably still looking for supplies," Alex said easily, so obviously unworried that it only made Rachel more so. Why had she agreed to splitting up? "Why don't I take the good doctor here to help me find things that we might actually find useful, and you can go find him?"

CJ's pretty brown eyes went a little wider in her face, but Alex was already gesturing for her to hurry up and there really wasn't much else she could do. Ask to stay behind? No, really, thanks for the offer but I'm happy here in zombie General Hospital? She brushed past Rachel with a confused expression, but Rachel couldn't find the will to try and comfort her, too busy gnawing on her abused lip thinking about where Ethan could be.

If Alex had heard them and come running, why hadn't Ethan?

Rachel didn't even know where to begin her search; she felt even more lost as she re-entered the hallway and saw Alex and CJ sneaking away from her in the opposite direction. She couldn't just walk down the halls calling his name, either. If CJ was still in there and they hadn't noticed her there was a good chance there were other things waiting to pounce. Things that could have already ripped Ethan to shreds before he'd had the chance to call out for help.

And she'd been checking on Quinn.

"Ethan," she stage-whispered urgently, Mick shaking in her grasp as she moved as quickly as she could without full on running through the horrid hospital rat maze. Where was that damn cheese, anyway?

She stopped at the 'T' intersection and looked left, right, then left again, pulse hammering away again, this time right behind her eyes.

"Please, God," she started down to the right, trying to see and hear everything at once. "Ethan?"

God answered her plea in the worst way possible, showing his sense of humor when the glass further down the hallway exploded as Ethan came through it entangled with what had once been a staff member, judging from his soiled scrubs.

"Ethan!" Rachel cried, trembling hands finding calm as she slowly tightened her grip around the trigger. Squeeze, don't pull, squeeze... Mick bucked in her hands once and then again, the first shot burying a bullet in the shoulder of the creature, the second finding it's target in the back of its head, blowing chunks of skull and brain matter down the hall.

Ethan shoved the re-dead zombie off of himself and hastily got to his feet tugging at his clothes and swiping blood and gore off himself. Chest heaving and eyes huge in his face he turned to Rachel and offered a sheepish thumbs up, signalling that he was alright.

"Moves like Jagger," Rachel squeaked, lowering Mick back down as Ethan stumbled towards her.

"I know I only say it after you've saved my life, and you deserve to hear it more often, but I love you Rachel Berry," Ethan said, pulling Rachel into a tight embrace. "You are definitely the hero."

Adrenaline forcing her body into a strange hyper state Rachel nodded vigorously and returned Ethan's embrace, stretching on her tiptoes to try and hold him as close as possible. "Don't scare me like that ever again. You're supposed to be invincible."

"Sorry, babe," he muttered, sighing heavily against the side of her neck. "I'll try harder to be your Superman."

"As long as you try," Rachel told him, voice thick despite her attempt to sound playful. "Come on, I found a survivor and I think it's time to regroup in a waiting room. No more hallway wandering."

"You go on ahead, I'm going to go back and get my bag, I found some scrubs and other stuff," Ethan said, smiling to reassure her. "Promise, I'll be right back."

"I'll wait here," Rachel said firmly, offering no chance for argument.

As soon as his back was to her he surreptitiously pulled down the neck of his baggy shirt, grimacing at a torn bite mark hidden just below his collarbone. Closing his eyes tightly he tried to find his courage and opened his mouth to tell Rachel, but when he looked back at her she smiled and waved her pistol towards the room he'd been shoved out of and he couldn't do it.

There was some gauze and tape in his duffle bag, and he applied it over the seeping wound and then pressed his hand over it, the burn making his eyes sting.

He wouldn't have long.

* * *

TBC...


	5. Chapter 4

AN: Here's another update!

* * *

Quinn didn't know what she'd been expecting when she stumbled her way into the hospital, trying to hide her limp behind some forced bravado and a smug grin that felt like it had been pasted on her face, but whatever it had been it definitely wasn't Rachel lurching forward to swallow her in a hug.

She fumbled, trying not to fall backwards as she stiffened, hands reaching up to push Rachel away or maybe pull her closer. "Rachel?" she asked lightly, breath still coming in short pants. Looking around the room she counted in her head and saw that everyone was present and accounted for - they'd even added one to their party it appeared, if the bedraggled looking woman slouched in one of the surviving waiting room chairs was any indication.

"You're okay," Rachel said, her grip tightening. Quinn patted her uncomfortably, every cell in her body screaming for her to get away from the embrace, feeling trapped with Rachel's lean body pressing so close.

"I told you I would be," Quinn replied, gently trying to ease herself out of Rachel's arms and smiling to soften the rejection. She didn't want to hurt Rachel's feelings - not ever again - but she couldn't handle being that close to anyone, and certainly not Rachel. It was still too raw. "I wouldn't let them make a liar out of me."

Rachel, ever the tenacious little pitbull, hugged Quinn again, head resting heavily against Quinn's chest.

Resigned, Quinn told herself that it was okay, that just this once it would be okay; Rachel wasn't going to die just because she'd hugged her. Relaxing as much as she could, even going so far as to loosely return the hold, she shot Chevy a curious look over the top of Rachel's head, watching as he shrugged his shoulders and made an odd gesture that she took to mean "just go with it".

"Are - are _you _okay?" she asked, the first stab of real fear twisting her guts. Sure, she'd been pretty terrified racing through the streets on a dirtbike being chased by an antagonized mob of zombies, but if Rachel wasn't okay she'd lose it. Just lose it.

That thought was what broke her, and she untangled herself from Rachel and took two steps away, scanning the other woman for injuries to mask her escape. Rachel didn't seem to notice or care, staring at Quinn like she was a ghost, just like she had when Quinn had woken up in the back of an old Bronco after saving her life.

"You're bleeding," Rachel said, openly not answering Quinn's inquiry.

Quinn touched the scrape on her elbow and her fingers came away red. "Yeah, um, Chevy, I'm really sorry but I sort of crashed your dirt bike."

"It's okay." Chevy sighed, hands resting possessively against the M4 slung across his chest. "It was a piece of shit anyway. I'm sure we'll find a better one."

"You're in luck though, Hollywood," Alex said and pointed at the new comer who was watching them all warily. "We found a doctor. She can patch up that little cut for you."

"That'd be nice." Quinn smiled at the doctor and lifted her elbow up so she could see the damage better. "I think it might need some stitches, if you can manage that. I'm Quinn, by the way."

"I know who you are," CJ said, hesitating only briefly before she got to her feet and approached Quinn like one would a feral beast. "God if this doesn't make me feel like I'm dreaming. I'm CJ."

Quinn nodded, completely understanding where CJ was coming from. Finding herself starring in a real version of her movies had often made her feel like she was still filming and simply dreaming that she was her character all over again.

"What's that short for, anyway?" Luz asked, moving over to lean against the wall closer to Quinn, arms crossed over her chest and watching CJ like a hawk as she examined Quinn's arm.

"It's short for my name," CJ replied easily - distractedly - as she probed the deep cut just above the point of Quinn's elbow.

Quinn arched her eyebrow a little higher and smirked at Luz's scowl, knowing full well that CJ had just unintentionally made a friend. Luz had a strange way of accepting people: the more you were able to dish it back the better the friendship you could forge with her. She was like Santana in that way - in a lot of ways - and while it had taken Quinn awhile to get over that, to not see Santana every time she looked at Luz, she'd learned enough differences between the two to no longer see her old friend in the new one.

"This will need stitches, but perhaps it could wait until we get somewhere a bit safer?"

"Words of wisdom," Ollie agreed, standing up and hefting his bag over his shoulder. "I don't need a medical degree to second that motion."

Her elbow stung quite a bit, but looking around the dank, eerie hospital and then at the faces all crowded around her, Quinn had to third, more than okay with living with the pain a little longer if it meant being somewhere not there. "I led the horde out of town but they'll probably come ambling back this way soon."

"There's something we need to take care of first," Ethan spoke up quietly, head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. Quinn side-eyed him, taking in the posture and feeling a sinking in her stomach. He looked like a repentant prisoner awaiting his sentence. She knew he wasn't talking about her scrapes, and when he finally looked up and locked eyes with her she felt her heart leap up into her throat, threatening to choke her.

Rachel seemed to recognize the same thing; she was shaking her head at him, denying the verdict before she'd even heard it.

Ethan didn't say another word, simply yanking down the collar of his shirt to reveal the bloody gauze taped to his chest.

Everyone standing close to him took an immediate step back, putting distance between themselves and the walking dead man.

"No," Rachel said, her voice as wobbly as her legs as she stepped _towards _him. "_No._"

"Rachel, I'm sorry... I wasn't fast enough this time," Ethan said so morosely that Quinn's eyes welled up. How callous a world they lived in, that someone could so easily accept their death knowing there was no hope, no cure to fight for. That this would not go into remission but had only one way out.

"No," Rachel repeated, striking him, slapping at his arm and chest in an agony they all knew too well. "No, no, no!"

Ethan caught her flailing hands and used them to tug her into his chest, careful to keep her face away from his wound as he held her tightly, rocking her against him as she sobbed wildly into his shirt. He didn't try to shush her, instead stroking her hair soothingly with his shaking hands, lips pressed against the crown of her head.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, then looked up, cheek pressed to Rachel's hair as he stared right at Quinn. "Could you...?"

"Me?" Quinn asked, blinking hard, shocked that he would ask her.

Rachel jerked out of Ethan's arms at the request, spinning around to latch onto the nearest surface. She screwed her eyes tightly shut as she breathed hard through her nose, shivering from head to toe.

"I can't ask them, Rachel. I can't ask them to do this," Ethan explained, his pained smile touching each person in the room before landing back on Quinn.

"Why can't you do it yourself?" Luz demanded, shoving off the wall and putting herself between Quinn and the dying man.

But Quinn knew. "It's a sin," she said plainly, ignoring the looks of surprise. She pulled her crucifix out of her shirt and held it up for Ethan to see, gesturing at his chest where she'd seen one similar to her own hanging.

"The things we hold on to sometimes seem silly," Ethan commented, clutching the crucifix under his shirt in his palm.

"They keep us human," Quinn finished flatly, reaching out to touch Luz's arm, prying her out of her protective stance. She appreciated it, but it wasn't necessary. Ethan was already gone and she wouldn't refuse his last request.

"Rachel," Ethan said, laying his hand against her heaving shoulders, trying to ignore the way she flinched under the contact. "I love you, and I need you to know that you're going to be fine, babe. I'm going to be watching over you."

"Don't," Rachel croaked, bowing her head and slumping until her forehead landed on her arms. "I love you, too."

There was nothing any of them could do, nothing but the mercy Quinn could grant at some cost to her soul. But it wasn't for Ethan, they both knew that as Quinn followed him into an empty room, her shotgun heavier than ever in her sweaty palms. She didn't look at him as she stepped over to the window, she only saw Rachel who was shoving away the comfort being offered to her by her friends and falling into a chair as far away as possible, curling up and covering her ears. It wouldn't be enough to block out the sound, Quinn knew, but she hoped that it was enough to muffle it, to soften the blow.

She drew the blinds and when she turned back around Ethan was kneeling, hands on his thighs, palms up.

Swallowing back her revulsion, the hatred she felt for herself at what she was about to do, Quinn spoke. "What do you want?"

"You already know what you have to do, Quinn," he said wearily, only now crying openly, his dark eyes radiating regret as he stared at the shotgun. He reached behind his neck and fumbled for a long few seconds and then pulled his hand back, his crucifix dangling from his fingers. Quinn took the necklace from him and tried to be reverent about it when she put it into her pocket.

"My Latin is rusty," she admitted, wracking her brain for the right words, searching foggy memories long ago buried.

"I think He'll understand if you mangle it," Ethan laughed humorlessly.

Quinn ran her tongue over her teeth, jaw working as she struggled for breath. She had to keep it together, just for a little longer, he needed her to, Rachel needed her to. "R-requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine... et l-lux perp-petua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen."

She moved into position, unsteadily raising the shotgun until the barrel caressed the back of Ethan's head. Vomit threatened at the back of her throat, the acid harsh, but she welcomed it - nobody should be comfortable in moment's like this.

"I know that I don't have to ask you this," Ethan said, almost as haltingly as Quinn's Latin recitation. "Please, _please_ look after Rachel, she's more fragile than she lets on."

"I will," Quinn promised, closing her eyes as her finger started to draw in, the trigger unyielding against her pull.

"We're all lost," Ethan continued, as though he knew that Quinn wasn't ready yet, that his sentence wouldn't be interrupted and left forever unfinished. "Some more than others. Don't ignore the signs because the destination scares you."

He didn't try to speak again and Quinn felt like she was suffocating in the silence, her eyes still closed as she pulled...

The shotgun went off in her hands and she nearly dropped it, surprised when it bucked. She hadn't wanted to be aware, hadn't wanted to know. Now she didn't want to be the one holding it. Keeping her eyes closed she stumbled away from where she'd heard the thump of the body hitting the floor and ran herself right into a hospital bed. She dropped the shotgun onto it like it was burning her hands, and yanked her jacket off, turning it inside out and wiping it over her face and neck. When she was done and couldn't feel the sticky warmth any longer she flung it away from her and finally opened her eyes, only looking at her hands, refusing to see what she'd done.

"Father, forgive me," she prayed - pleaded - quietly. "Please, I'm no priest or pastor, and I haven't been the most... _Please_, welcome him. There are so few good men left and he is a good man. Please keep him and let him be at peace."

She left the room as quickly as she could without being disrespectful and found the others standing where they'd been before. CJ had her hand over her mouth, fat tears streaming down her face. Luz, Alex, and Chevy looked at her, their expressions too kind for Quinn to stomach. Ollie, who she didn't know well at all, looked angry more so than sad and she could appreciate that. She'd earned that, she felt, and wouldn't begrudge him if he hated her from then on.

And Rachel… Rachel unfolded herself from the chair, moving like every bone in her body was stiff with a kind of pain few would understand. She stood, tension rolling up from her toes to the top of her head, a wooden puppet whose master had gripped the strings to bring her to life. Those big brown eyes were dull, lifeless as they locked onto Quinn. She'd said she couldn't handle any more ghosts following her around and now she'd become the apparition herself.

Quinn wanted nothing more than to find the resolve, the strength she needed to approach Rachel, to embrace her and bring her back to life.

But Quinn was a coward.

Rachel didn't wipe at her face - her tears stayed where they were, drying in the lines they'd created in the dirt smeared on her features. Her jaw was hard and her voice gruff when she commanded that they "get the fuck out of this hell hole."

Quinn trailed after the others, the last one out of the cursed hospital, Ethan's cross a lead weight in her pocket.

"Forgive me," she whispered, crossing the threshold back into the danger of the night to join the other monsters.

* * *

No one said anything, not a single word, as they hurriedly picked their way back over the hill to where the rest of the convoy was waiting with hopeful stares. Rachel hated it, not her people nor their hope, but what she hated was how their faces fell, how their eyes gleamed in the gray dawn with unshed tears as they counted the returning party and didn't see Ethan amongst their ranks.

She couldn't talk to them, couldn't bare facing them. She'd failed, again. And this time the price she'd paid had been Ethan. Checks and balances, the universe had given her Quinn and taken Ethan away.

CJ entered their camp and Ethan would never come back.

Checks and balances. Who would they lose now that they'd added one more to the ranks?

Rachel didn't stay to introduce CJ to the rest of the group, instead making a beeline for her Bronco, each step painful, jarring the tears free from her eyes. Kevin took one look at her and swooped in, wrapping his arm around CJ's shoulders and ushering her over to Ethan's suburban, speaking lowly, as though if he spoke too loud Rachel might come undone.

She hated that he was right.

The safety of her Bronco was only a few paces away when a small form cut into her path, a mop of dark brown hair partially obscuring the young eyes that looked up at her. Skyler smiled tentatively, unperturbed by Rachel's inability to do anything other than stand there swaying listlessly. He jumped forward, his small arms reaching around her hips and face pressed into her stomach, holding her tightly.

Skyler didn't talk; he'd been mute since they'd found him and stayed that way despite the numerous attempts of every convoy member to get him to speak. He liked Rachel though, and Ethan had often told her it was because she talked enough for both of them.

Just as Rachel was reaching up, her hand moving so slowly to touch his hair, Skyler pulled away with a furious blush and darted off. She watched him go and felt guiltier still for feeling a bit of relief, for the smile that touched her face because Skyler was glad she was back.

She was back and Ethan wasn't.

Another ghost to stalk her… she'd asked Quinn not to be that one that would join the ranks haunting her and Quinn was the one who'd...

Rachel felt the eyes on her, knew without looking that it was Quinn watching her, worrying over her.

Shaking her head, Rachel yanked open the door to the Bronco and collapsed inside. Her energy left her with her breath as she landed on the bench seat, the seat belt digging into her ribs and reminding her that she was very much awake - it wasn't a nightmare she was trapped in. She was barely able to lift herself up to pull the door closed behind her and it clicked weakly into place, not sealing completely and she didn't care. Flopping back down she searched under the seat with a trembling hand until her fingertips hit soft fabric. Dragging the shirt out from it's hiding place she pulled it against her face, taking in a deep breath and then releasing it with the first sob of many. She beat the seat under her, lashing out and punching the door, the glove box - whatever she could reach - until her knuckles hurt and her hand cramped.

Using her Daddy's shirt to muffle the sounds, she let go of her tenuous control and drowned.

She wasn't surprised when Quinn showed up a few hours later, this time knocking politely, if shyly, on the passenger window.

Rachel had managed to avoid her as they readied to leave and continue their trip towards the coast. She'd done her damndest to stay away from her because it _hurt _to look at her. The guilt was eating away at her - and maybe it wasn't fair to Quinn - but that's the way it was. She knew it wasn't Quinn's fault but that didn't make it any easier.

Certainly the fact that Rachel's stomach erupted into butterflies at the sight of Quinn wasn't her fault. It did nothing to tamp down Rachel's disgust at herself. Disgust that she could be happy, that she could be experiencing whatever these feelings were in the wake of Ethan's... passing.

It was _her _fault. It didn't make sense but she continued to accept the blame. How could she not?

She had to distance herself; it was the only way to keep everyone else safe. Her concern for Quinn had made her reckless and because of that a man was dead.

Rachel would _not _lose another person because she was being selfish.

Hiding puffy eyes behind her sunglasses she stiffly waved for Quinn to go ahead and open the door. There could be no harm in allowing Quinn to ride with her; they were relatively safe inside the moving vehicle and Rachel would be watching herself carefully to make sure her judgement remained impartial.

There would be no giving in to her emotions, not anymore.

Quinn smiled half heartedly as she pulled the door open. "Hi... turn left here?"

"Get in if you're going to," Rachel said gruffly, heart aching when Quinn's smile fell, a blank mask swiftly covering her features. It was a look Rachel knew well. She wondered how it could be that seeing it again could hurt so badly, even if she'd wanted it not seconds before.

Without another word Quinn took her place, long arm propped up against the window and legs stretched out before her, the very picture of cool detachment. She glanced at Rachel only briefly and then leaned back into her seat with the softest sigh.

Rachel started the Bronco up and grabbed her walkie - not the one Quinn had given her, that she'd thrown into the back with the rest of the supplies where she intended for it to stay.

"Let me know about fuel. I'd rather not have to make another pit stop any time soon," she ordered.

Nobody joked about Starbucks, or anything else for that matter, and their replies were right to the point. Rachel could have screamed because it was _different_ and she didn't want the reminder any more than she wanted them to act like nothing was. Like there wasn't a huge hole now, one that Rachel didn't know if she could crawl back out of or fill back up.

Everything hurt.

They traveled in silence for over an hour with Quinn pointing only to keep Rachel going the right direction. The tension between them was still there, dense and infuriating for Rachel who felt like she was swimming in it.

She was angry. Angry at Ethan, angry at Quinn, angry at the whole fucked up world, but mostly at herself. The things she was feeling weren't welcome, and it had only showed up with Quinn and her stupid smile and plans and... Quinn-ness. Rachel would be dead if it weren't for her and she was mad about that, too. She was supposed to be the leader, the strong one, and if she hadn't felt worthy of the mantle before now she knew she wasn't. Who was she to lead? She was a goddamn Broadway singer, a tiny loudmouth who had once told the boy she loved that she needed applause to live. Selfish, arrogant, and spoiled. A _Diva _not a leader.

Quinn was picking at the gauze wrapping her arm when Rachel shot a glare her direction, and if she sensed the irate stare she didn't react, continuing to pick at the strings. It probably itched like hell. Rachel hoped so. She hoped it hurt.

"It's okay to hate me," Quinn said abruptly in her rasp of a voice, the gravelly sound only adding fuel to Rachel's anger.

Her nostrils flared and she would have been embarrassed by the reaction if she wasn't so busy contemplating all the reasons she did hate Quinn and the longer list of reasons why she didn't. Hate was easy; Quinn wasn't ever easy. Not Before and certainly not now. She'd never been simple, Quinn Fabray the enigma, the puzzle that Rachel never could solve.

Unbidden, a ridiculous quote surfaced amidst her muddled thoughts:

_Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering_.

She was afraid, so very afraid, but she didn't need Yoda in her head to remind her of that. And _damn _Finn Hudson for making her watch those movies. Surely there were better things for her brain to be dredging up to make her feel like shit.

Afraid of what though, she wondered, tightening her jaw and grinding her teeth together. That was the million dollar question and there were so many answers. There were so many things to be afraid of - how could she choose just one?

She didn't realize she was crying again until she flinched and awareness flooded back in.

Quinn's hand was on the wrist that was lying limply between them on the seat.

Quinn, who was so skittish about contact of any sort, was initiating it, her calloused hand sliding slowly down Rachel's wrist and then wiggling it's way under Rachel's own hand, holding it loosely. Rachel could feel how hard it was for Quinn to do that, to be holding her hand, and she wanted to hate her for that, too. For offering comfort when it was so obviously hard for her to do so.

Instead she carefully opened her hand, fingers uncurling against that rough palm to twine her fingers with Quinn's, leaving them there for as long as Quinn would let her.

Both of them were quietly surprised later when they moved to exit the vehicle and suddenly remembered that they were connected.

Neither said anything about it as they untangled their fingers and went in opposite directions. The physical tether between them had broken, but the invisible one that neither could explain held strong.

Rachel refused to hope.

* * *

TBC...


End file.
